


Imbroglio

by jellijeans



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-03-24 04:26:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13803369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellijeans/pseuds/jellijeans
Summary: In truth, Rudolf wants nothing more than to give his son the best life he could ask for; to live as the prince of Rigel, with the world at his fingertips and not a single want that cannot be provided. To grow old as a beloved and cherished leader, and to bring Rigel forth into the next era, and to give everything to his people that his father could not—however, that...that is no longer possible. No child can be happy with an assassin waiting for him at every corner.One day, someone will need to teach him Rigelian court manners, Rudolf muses, but that day is not today.He names his son Albein Alm Rudolf and wonders how he will learn the truth.





	1. the beginning of the end

The first time Rudolf holds his son, he cries. He is...he’s so  _ small _ , so delicate—crying, yes, but in a way that only radiates life. The saints step outside of the room, leaving Rudolf and his wife alone with their son, and he feels like if he holds him any longer, he’ll drop him—there is so much hope, so much life brimming from the tiny body of a child that hasn’t even opened his eyes. His son stretches out his left hand, and Rudolf’s heart immediately drops.

There it is—the Brand.

And just like that, there it is—what he knows he must do.

 

His wife notices it at the same time he does, and they share a sad, knowing look—a child like this...two children, if the tales about the newborn Zofian princess are to be believed—cannot be held here in Rigel Castle, cannot even be held in Rigel. The Duma Faithful will hunt him down and kill him the moment word gets out about the Brand—and while his son may be the hero that rises to save Valentia, he won’t have the chance if he’s killed first.

He must be sent away, then.

In truth, Rudolf wants nothing more than to give his son the best life he could ask for; to live as the prince of Rigel, with the world at his fingertips and not a single want that cannot be provided. To grow old as a beloved and cherished leader, and to bring Rigel forth into the next era, and to give everything to his people that his father could not—however, that...that is no longer possible. No child can be happy with an assassin waiting for him at every corner.

 

One day, someone will need to teach him Rigelian court manners, Rudolf muses, but that day is not today.

He names his son Albein Alm Rudolf and wonders how he will learn the truth.


	2. grace

“Rudolf? Are you here? It’s me, Mycen. I’ve come as promised.”

The voice snaps him out of his musings as he waits for Mycen within the old fortress, and he stands, being careful not to wake Alm. His son is still so small, still so untouched, still so innocent. He must’ve zoned out for a while, he thinks, and stands to go greet his friend.

“Ah, Mycen...it has been too long. Thank you for answering my call.”

Not much has changed about Mycen since the last time they met; even the way he stands is the same, with his legs slightly parted and his arms crossed, although he spins around on his heel at Rudolf’s voice. Even when they were young, he’s always done that; some habits are hard to shake, Rudolf supposes, brushing the pad of his thumb over his son’s forehead. He’s still sleeping, and his heart absolutely aches to realize that when his son fell asleep, it was with his father—when he wakes, it will be with a Zofian general.

Oh, the bitter irony.

“There you are, my friend! I must say, I never thought I would set foot on Rigelian soil again.” Mycen gives him a grin for a second, but his face changes to one of concerned focus when Rudolf doesn’t respond. “Now, pray tell what was so urgent that you summoned me here. I know it cannot be simply to reminisce on days gone by.”

“Alas, I fear not.” Rudolf’s voice is low and somber, and Mycen uncrosses his arms, standing straighter. “Mycen, in all my years, I have never known a truer friend than you. You are the only man I can trust with this.” He swallows—it feels so dehumanizing to call his son a “this”—but...the more connected he is to Alm, the worse this moment will be, he supposes. “Here.”

“...an infant?” Mycen’s voice is high and surprised as Rudolf places the baby in the old knight’s arms, but when Alm shifts, he quiets himself, and gives Rudolf a harsh look. “Rudolf, is this your—”

“My son, yes.” Rudolf looks down. “He was only just born. His name is Alm. I want you to take him to Zofia and raise him as your own.”

“Are you mad?! What father would hand off his newborn child?!” Mycen looks him in the eyes for a moment, and his rage suddenly quiets. “I love you most dear, but I must know the reason for this request.”

“Yes. The reason...Alm here is destined to one day champion Valentia.”

His heartache grows worse every time he says his son’s name—every time, it may be the last.

“How can you know this?”

“Look at his left hand.”

Mycen inhales sharply, and his eyes grow wide with shock. “...the Brand!”

“Indeed. Two children with such a mark are prophesied to save Valentia from ruin, and now my son has been born with it. I also hear tale of a newborn Zofian princess who has this selfsame mark.”

“Two children...” Mycen pauses, thinking for a moment. When he continues, his voice has lowered again, and his face reads an expression more of concern than the anger he had shown previously. “Then Valentia’s end is drawing near? Is Duma’s madness to blame?”

“Yes. His time is running short.”

“I see...”

A silence falls between them for a moment. Neither of them look at each other—Mycen adjusts his hold on Alm and studies the sleeping child for a moment, but Rudolf stares at the floor. The silence is strangulating.

“Mycen, I have to draw first blood. I must awaken the people to their own potential—their own strength—and stop them from leaning so hard on the blessings and precepts of the gods. I know the people will rise up against me for what I do, but as a father...” Rudolf hesitates, and finally looks up to meet Mycen’s eyes. “Nothing would make me prouder than for Alm to lead them.”

“Rudolf...”

“Promise me, my friend.” The emperor’s voice begins to shake. “Promise you will shape my boy into a true champion before that day comes. If he stays in Rigel, the Duma Faithful will doubtless attempt to take his life. I want none to know of him so he has a chance to grow up hale and happy. This is the only thing I can do for him as his father.”

Mycen swallows. “...very well, my friend. I promise to take care of him. I’ll do what it takes to make him the finest champion Valentia could ask for.”

“Thank you, Mycen.” A tear falls down Rudolf’s cheek as he takes Alm in his arms one last time. “Goodbye, Alm. May you never forget how to be kind. When we next meet, my son...it will be on the fields of war.”

Rudolf presses a kiss to his son’s forehead before passing him back to Mycen and swiftly leaving.

 

“Rudolf...” Mycen calls his name one last time, but the emperor is already gone. In his arms, Alm begins to cry.


	3. letters

When Alm is young, before the war breaks out in its entirety, Mycen and Rudolf frequently write letters to each other; Alm is too interested in swords—or later, in Celica—to care about the occasional messages arriving to their house sealed ornately with the royal crest of Rigel.

For that, Mycen is thankful, even though it stings.

 

To Alm’s father, he writes how the boy is doing; how much taller he’s gotten, the friends he’s been making, and so on; he notes that although Alm wasn’t raised in Rigel, and Mycen himself hasn’t lived in Rigel for a  _ long _ time, the arch of the Rigelian tongue still finds its way into his throat, leaving him with just a touch of a twang. It’s endearing, Mycen writes. Not enough to definitively be labelled as a Rigelian accent, but enough that it distinguishes him from the rough-and-tumble voices of the Zofian southerners. The only girl in Alm’s group seems to be somewhat smitten with it, and with Alm in general; still, the way boys tend to do, Alm doesn’t think of her as anything aside from a friend, if a slightly clingy one.

Mycen notes that he doesn’t think they’ll end up together; as he writes this, he looks over at Alm, hastily peeling an orange from the tree outside, and notices the glint of the candlelight off of the Brand.

 

As tensions rise, the letters are sent less and less frequently, often disguised as something else, no longer bearing the royal seal; still, Mycen continues to write. He writes about Alm’s sword training, about his misadventures, about his friends, about Alm’s first  _ real _ sword, his first set of armor; anything he can think of that Rudolf would like, he writes down. Sometimes, he sends a drawing of Alm in the letters, and when he does, he sees so many features of young Rudolf in Alm; especially the eyes, that same piercing green. Even the lines on Alm’s face when he frowns or smiles match Rudolf’s; it’s a bittersweet sight to see, but reminds the old knight so much of when he and Rudolf fought together. He writes that down, too.

 

When Celica arrives, Mycen details their relationship, noting that he’s never seen Alm warm up to someone so fast; the two of them talk about their Brands, or about something their friends did, and there’s a light in Alm’s eyes that he’s never quite seen before. One in Celica’s, too; it’s a refreshing change from the dreary, anxious princess he’d come to know when she’d first arrived, and it makes him think that if anyone'll end up together, it's these two. He writes how the meeting of the two of them, the children of fate, is setting the gears in motion, and ends his letter with “burn as soon as you’ve read this”.

 

It’s the last letter he sends.


	4. crepuscule

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i aged up berkut a little bit bc lukas says he's "around alm's age" (which isn't super specific in the first place but yknow), but i don't think someone whos 17 would actually be engaged to someone else lmao

After the letters stop, Rudolf turns his attention to his nephew, Berkut; Berkut is maybe three years older than Alm, and from what he’s heard from Mycen, Berkut is everything Alm is not. Less of a crybaby, perhaps, but at the same time, someone who has forgotten how to be truly kind; Berkut is ambitious and power-hungry, even at his young age, and trusts no one, but underneath that, Rudolf senses the crippling fear of never being enough.

It hurts him more than almost all else to know that despite what Berkut trains for, _yearns_ for, Berkut will never be emperor—if all goes to plan, that throne will go to Alm, but Alm, at least, has not forgotten how to be kind; Berkut will still be a noble, and of the highest house at that. He hopes that someone like Berkut will be okay with that.

 

At every dinner, every ball, Berkut wears black; it is not the color of Rigel, but it becomes _his_ color, the color of regality and seriousness and royalty but also the color of death, which both follows and is commanded by Berkut at every corner. He is the successor the Rigelian people lust for, perhaps, but not the successor they need. He is too cold, too harsh, too unforgiving, and Rudolf knows the other nobles know this as well; they silence themselves when the boy, just fourteen, walks into the room in full armor for the first time.

Nobles from the lower houses scurry away, but as they leave, Rudolf notices a young blue-haired girl craning her neck to catch another glimpse of Berkut before she is pulled through the door.

 

Commoners come from the highlands around the capitol at new year’s to receive blessings; it’s a Rigelian tradition, and the capitol sees many people a year make the voyage. Instead of coming down with Rudolf, Berkut watches the poor and the dirty scramble for good luck from the throne room window; later, Rudolf catches one of the guards asking Berkut why he didn’t go down and spread blessings, too.

Berkut turns to the guard and slaps him, and snarls that pigs only deserve what slop they can find.

 

Berkut’s mother dies when he is fifteen. He doesn’t cry, merely picks up his lance and spits at those who pity him. All that’s been asked of him is strength, Berkut often remarks, and he will offer nothing more and nothing less. It’s what a leader must do. Pity and self-doubt are for weaklings, the boy believes, and he curses at the Duma Faithful who offer to light a candle for his mother. Still, Rudolf catches him wearing her ring underneath his gloves.

After that, he stops letting other people validate him, no longer listens to the genuinely caring words of others, and sets his sights on the throne; Rudolf doesn't know how to break it to him— _can't_ break it to him—that the throne isn't truly his, and he starts growing more and more anxious for the day that Berkut finally learns the truth. The boy is like a second son in his hands—a son who is everything his real son is not, and despite all of the kindness, all of the validation he clearly needs from others, he accepts none of it.

When Rudolf questions him about it, tries to offer some form of comfort, the boy snaps that the only thing a person can rely on is their own strength, and that is what he must be. Strong, above all else, no matter the cost.

Rudolf suspects that the boy thinks if he were stronger, he might have been able to keep his mother alive, but he doesn't bring it up, only watches and hopes that Berkut will one day re-open whatever gates he has closed.

 

He grows, his voice drops, he becomes stronger and harder and more feared by everyone he meets, more respected by the other nobles, less and less inclined to believe in the kindness others show to him, especially from Rudolf. At seventeen he is nearly as tall as Rudolf, and he gets a new set of armor; once again, it is completely black, except for the lining of the collar, which is white as snow. He tugs the collar upwards, as if to block out the commendations of others—despite how desperately he needs them, and that's what Rudolf finds ironic—and enters the yuletide ball with a cape sweeping behind him, finally meeting eyes with the blue-haired girl from long ago.

 

For the first time, Rudolf sees a crack in Berkut’s iron-cast exterior, sees a gate begin to open, no matter how slowly, and he lets out a sigh of relief. He watches as their shadows disappear around a corner, and prays to Duma about things to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so much for the sweet comments !! they've been really encouraging and have really helped me keep writing this ;;
> 
> i'm not very happy with this chapter, so i might edit it here and there until i'm satisfied with it (i've already done that once lmao). if this fic gets popular enough, i might post the original version as a separate fic and tag it as a related work or something haha
> 
> i hope you've enjoyed this so far!


	5. homecoming

Alm is nine when Mycen brings “Celica” home; he had been staying with Gray’s parents while Mycen had been out, and had been shocked to see the fragile frame of a young girl with bright red hair alongside Mycen’s on his horse.

“Grandpa?” Alm asks. He looks at the girl, although she doesn’t look at him, instead choosing to stare at the ground and absentmindedly kick at a pebble. From what he can see of her eyes, they have an almost blank, startlingly dark look to them—Mycen can tell that it frightens Alm, and certainly, it frightens him, too. The princess used to be a bright, shining star—to see her reduced to this is...alarming. He’s not sure if she’ll recover.

“Yes, Alm?”

“Who is she?” he asks softly. In his face, Mycen sees so much of young Rudolf—even the creases on his forehead when he frowns are exactly the same, and every face he makes is another bittersweet reminder of his old friend. It makes his chest hurt, to know that those faces, those striking resemblances will one day only belong to Alm. Mycen exhales.

“Her name is...her name is Celica. Please be patient with her, Alm, and be gentle. She needs it.”

Alm nods, ever the empath. Mycen watches as Alm tries to talk to her, but the girl doesn’t look at him, and doesn’t even respond. She just shifts further away from him, and turns her head so she doesn’t have to look at him. Alm withdraws his hand and murmurs something else before bounding inside.

“Lady Anthiese, how are you doing?” Mycen asks Anthiese softly. She mumbles something under her breath, and Mycen exhales. “That’s okay. You’re safe here, I promise. That boy is Alm. He’s...excitable, but he means well, I promise.”

Anthiese still doesn’t respond. Mycen leans down.

“If it helps, think of him like a puppy,” he whispers into her ear. For the first time since the incident, the princess cracks a smile.

 

It’s better than nothing, he supposes.

 

Anthiese and Alm initially don’t get along well; he sits in her room and reads to her, and asks one-sided questions, and talks about boyish things that he did with his friends; she ignores him, or stares at the blanket, and she doesn’t even get out of her bed for the first week or so after coming home.

To his surprise, Alm doesn’t lose interest. He keeps trying to get her to open up, to get her to smile, and Mycen smiles at that. Anthiese does not warm up to him quickly, but Alm immediately becomes attached—he knows why, too. He doesn’t allow Alm outside of the village for a multitude of reasons—no one can know the truth about his heritage, and no one can let him know the truth of his heritage, and Valentia’s future rests on whether or not he’s killed—but Anthiese is clearly a foreigner, someone with an air of mysteriousness about her.

A walking portal to out of the village.

 

Even despite that, once she does start talking, Alm warms up to her even more; she calls him a boor and a clod and every insult she can find, but he keeps talking to her, keeps trying to make her smile, and eventually, it works. As soon as she’s able to walk long distances, Mycen allows Alm to take her to the flower fields behind the village, and they spend hours playing among the flowers and making flower crowns for each other, and life is well.

For the first time in months, Anthiese smiles and laughs and truly enjoys life; Alm sits with her on the heat-filled nights in the middle of the summer where she wakes up screaming and crying about flames and smoke, and even before Mycen can rush into the room to reassure her, she’s already calmed down somewhat, still crying, but no longer screaming, not even focused on the heat anymore.

When he goes to check on them later, Alm and Anthiese—no, no longer Anthiese,  _ Celica _ —are in front of the fireplace, and Alm is reading an old book about the founding of Valentia to her; he reads off the lines about Mila and Duma fighting, and Mycen overhears the two of them make a promise never to end up like the two gods did.

He hears a muffled chuckle from Alm, and swears that he will not fail neither Rudolf nor Anthiese again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry that it's been so long since i've updated !! i'll try to be better about uploading consistently haha ;;


	6. post farewell

Then, as soon as she is there, she is gone, and Alm doesn’t see Celica again. Mycen brings her out of town, all the way to the port, where Nomah meets her and brings her to Novis, and the only thing she leaves behind for Alm is her necklace and a promise that they’ll meet again.

He waits years, spends hours upon hours staring out the window and hoping he will see that familiar face, see her smile and wander in the door and say “Alm, Grandfather, I’m home!”, but she does not. He waits years, and she does not come back.

All the while, Mycen watches as Alm throws himself into training, not just with him but also with his friends; Tobin picks up the bow, Gray, like Alm, picks up the sword, Kliff picks up the tome, and Faye picks up the staff, and none of them look back. However, the others spar casually, waiting for the day in which they can leave the village behind for good, but Alm  _ destroys _ himself in training. He comes home every day dripping in sweat and absolutely exhausted, and Mycen can see the freshly closed wounds that Faye has undoubtedly healed; Mycen’s not even sure which one of Alm’s friends could leave cuts like that, but clearly, it’s someone.

(It’s Gray, as he later finds out. Gray picks up the sword almost as fast as Alm does.)

“Alm,” Mycen says, one afternoon, “can you come here for a bit?”

Alm appears in the doorway, dressed casually and not in armor for once, and Mycen can see the bruises that litter his arms. He’s fourteen, now; it’s been four years since Celica left.

“Why are you training so hard?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he asks, and his voice cracks. Mycen holds back a grin as Alm flushes red. “It’s for Celica. I need to see her again.”

“I thought that might be the case,” Mycen says, and he sighs. “Listen. Don’t go getting yourself killed out there. If you do, there’s no way you two will reunite.”

“I’m not going to get myself killed,” Alm responds softly, but his tone then grows slightly sharper. “I don’t even have anyone to spar with except for the other kids. You know that. You’ve forbidden me from leaving the village.”

“For good reason,” Mycen says, although he never explains why. He glances at the mark on Alm’s left hand and knows he’s failing the entirety of Valentia if Alm dies before the time comes.

“Please let me out of the village, grandfather,” Alm says. “Please let me find Celica.”

“No.”

“ _ Grandfather. _ ”

“You’ll get yourself killed.”

“I won’t! I’m the most able fighter in this village, aside from you, and you know that! I’m not a child!”

Oh, he is, but Mycen doesn’t say so; he looks at Alm and sees a Rudolf from thirty-three years ago, just as rash and just as fierce, yearning just as much to be independent.

A child, but one trying to grow up far too fast at that.

“Alm, please try to understand,” he says, too tired to argue back. Rudolf would not appreciate him doing so, he knows. “This is for...it’s for the greater good.”

“I just want to see Celica,” Alm says, blinking back a sheen of tears. “I miss her, Grandfather. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“I know you will,” Mycen says, and he hugs Alm, and pulls back after a second. Alm rubs at his eyes with the back of his hand. He’s so much like Rudolf. The emperor could never keep his tears inside, either. “You will see her again,” Mycen promises, “but you must be brave enough to do so.”

Alm sniffles, and rubs at his eyes again. Mycen can see the bruises tracing his wrist, the cuts scoring his forearm, and wishes he would be more careful.

“...okay.” Alm takes a shaky inhale. “I just don’t understand why Rigel would do this. She was just a girl, Grandfather. I’ll hunt that man to the ends of the earth if that’s what it takes to get Celica back.”

“Maybe you will, one day.”

“It’s not a maybe,” Alm says quietly. “One day, when I’m old enough, I will. I’ll leave this village, and I’ll find Celica, no matter what it takes. No matter if the entirety of Rigel is out for her head.”

 

They eat dinner in silence after that, but Mycen sees a quiet resolve forming within Alm, and he exhales, taking another look at the injuries, and then at Alm’s brand.

He thinks of Rudolf and wonders when the time is coming, because he can see the rebellion forming within Mycen’s own son, and knows that it must be soon.


End file.
